


Distance Perspectives: Three

by MirandasMadeOfStone



Series: Distance Perspectives [3]
Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, Memories, Reminiscing, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 10:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4057375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirandasMadeOfStone/pseuds/MirandasMadeOfStone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>OK this is the third of my distance perspectives. It comes with a health warning. I am really not at all happy with this. I think it’s rather formulaic, tedious and trite. So please accept my apologies. It’s probably only a fic for those who are true fans as it doesn’t stand alone at all well. I keep playing with it and cannot seem to alter it to my satisfaction so in posting it, I am getting rid of it to stop myself trying to see the wood for the trees.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Distance Perspectives: Three

**Author's Note:**

> OK this is the third of my distance perspectives. It comes with a health warning. I am really not at all happy with this. I think it’s rather formulaic, tedious and trite. So please accept my apologies. It’s probably only a fic for those who are true fans as it doesn’t stand alone at all well. I keep playing with it and cannot seem to alter it to my satisfaction so in posting it, I am getting rid of it to stop myself trying to see the wood for the trees.

He’s been tossing and turning for the last half an hour. Now, he finally surrenders and opens his eyes slowly in the half light. Rain may be rhythmically pattering down on skylight and wind may be gently buffeting the back of the house but a small smile crosses his lips. He rolls onto his side and then startles as he catches sight of the feet next to his pillow.

He screws his eyes shut again and tries to delve out a memory of last night, an explanation; something that initially proves elusive in his groggy haze. It was only meant to be a couple of quick drinks in the Swan to celebrate the boys being reunited, even if it was only for a few hours on a soggy July weekend. Archie had driven all the way from Durham and he had taken a train back from Leeds as soon as his shift in the garage had finished.

It was never really going to be a quiet night with Chop involved. And, even though they’d all been aware that they needed to be on parade and pass muster the following day, things had quickly ramped up from a quick pint to a full scale session. He groans because, not only should he know better, but he also needs his sleep these days. He adjusts his pillow and tries in vain to shut out the myriad of thoughts that begin to permeate his mind.

It’s occasions like this that always seem to evoke something in him, raise all kinds of complex and inexplicable questions, and unearth buried memories. Mostly those that were replete with melancholy and longing, but some were of happier times when his mum was still around. Even though it has been many years since she left, his chest still constricts and his stomach churns when he thinks of her. He wonders what she would make of him and his life. Would she be proud of the lost little boy who has now become a man? Would she approve of his life choices and how he has dealt with the consequences?

He wipes a tear from his cheek and reprimands himself for allowing those thoughts to unsettle him yet again. He inhales deeply and bites his lip, pleading with his inner self for peace . He snuggles down under the covers in a final futile attempt to release himself from the watery dawn’s hold. It would be so much easier were she the one sharing his bed. She would know exactly what to say, how to hold him.

His sleeping partner momentarily stirs and then shifts, pulling the covers a little, before returning to gentle snoring. Finn’s feeling distinctly chilly now and decides that he needs a soothing cup of tea. He tries to creep silently over the prone body. Forgetting the exact slope of the ceiling above his old bed he knocks his head slightly and a strangled cry emits from his dry mouth.

He makes it down the stairs and into the kitchen without further mishap. The familiar tick-tock of his dad’s kitchen clock seems louder than ever to his aching head. He switches the kettle on and stares down the length of the garden. The garden where they had shared so much in that summer between her second and third years of University. The garden where their dreams had seemed almost palpable.

Pouring a little milk into the steaming cup, he stirs it thoroughly thinking that he’s going to need some extra sugar today. He slumps at the table, his body crying out for the sleep his mind is denying him. He swallows thickly, recalling the events that followed that summer. Even now, he’s not entirely sure when things had started to change. She had been exceedingly studious in her last year, concerned about the impact of her grades on potential future employment opportunities. He supposes, had he not been so confident following the affirmations of the summer, he would have called more frequently and been perturbed by her lengthy silences.

He sets the mug firmly back down on the table and considers whether he would wake anyone if he were to start cooking breakfast at this ungodly hour. Instead, he opts for the comfort afforded by a sneaky cigarette. He opens several drawers and rummages through, seeking either his father’s emergency lighter or a box of matches. He has no idea what became of his last night, but he muses that it might not be a bad thing. He’s been trying to give up for some time now but hasn’t quite crossed the final frontier of social smoking in the pub.

Unlocking the back door, he breathes in the cool summer air gratefully. He imagines her chastising him as he strikes the three matches it takes to light a cigarette with his shaking hand. Watching the smoke curl and loop and fade into the sky, he contemplates what could have been, had he not made his penultimate emergency drive to Bristol.

At best, it had been a reckless journey through thick snow in the small hours of a bitterly cold February night. Earlier that evening, the beer hadn’t tasted right in the pub and he’d ended up drinking Coke, listening to Chop prattling on about Izzy and his latest plan for a holiday in Ibiza.

He hadn’t spoken, let alone seen her since Christmas, bar one tense call where she’d pleaded the need for space to study. Katie had taken a couple of his other calls, promising faithfully to pass messages on. His lip curls up slightly at the thought of her friend and he knows he’ll most probably never trust her fully.  

With hindsight, he perceives what a fool he must have looked, turning up exhausted at 4am, expecting to be welcomed with open arms as he hammered on the students’ door. They’d actually had the mother of all rows when Katie had finally let him in to see her, just to stop him disturbing the passed out bodies on the floor.

She had dragged him out to some god awful all night cafe, frequented by worn out souls staring at the bottom of their tea cups, as if they could provide the meaning of life. His pent up hurt and anger had revealed itself in stuttered half sentences and pained glares. He really thought he’d lost her at that moment, and he remembers the way he felt paralysed by a tenebrous feeling, which had robbed him of the last of his words. They had walked back to the house in seemingly impenetrable silence.

He shivers at the recollection and his hand automatically reaches for the matches. He believes he will never come to understand what had finally given way such that he’d been prepared to go against her wishes and make that journey, let alone why he his parting shot had been to recount his nan’s story about the daisy who wanted to see the stars. But not only had she listened, her body had softened and collapsed into his embrace.  

He had made love to her that morning, as she had requested, for what he had believed was the final time. It had been slow, deliberate and exquisite, unlike the heady rushed fucking that had become the norm in Bristol. They had both dozed off but she had woken him with tears streaming down her face.

Her eyes were wide and luminous as she’d pleaded with him to tell her the story once more as she lay in his arms. By the time he had finished, he had been shaking in anticipation of the words he had expected to follow. But she’d whispered how much she loved him, how much she’d missed him and for the first time in Bristol, they’d spoken of a new life together.

He stubs out the second cigarette in a cracked plastic plant pot that appears to contain nothing but soil and dead leaves. He’s surprised that the knowledge of what came to pass in the following four months still wields so much power over his emotions. They had spent a couple of apparently happy weeks of the holidays together in Stamford while she studied and he worked. The lazy evenings spent in his room listening to vinyl had become a sanctuary for both of them.

His breath becomes shorter as he recollects the way she had withdrawn from him after Easter, something he had initially ascribed to the pressure of her finals. But the calls had once again petered out leaving him bewildered and fearful. His final middle of the night expedition to Bristol had been made when he hadn’t heard from her after her exams were supposed to have finished.

That time, he’d been absolutely certain of what was to come. The journey through June’s early dawn had been arduous and lengthy; accompanied by The Smiths. He’d smoked an entire pack and reeked by the time he pulled up to the terraced house. Despite the urgent need to see her, he hadn’t been able to get out of the car. He had nearly driven straight back home again.

She hadn’t been able to meet his eyes when she’d opened the door. The image of her pale skin juxtaposed with the bruised dark circles under her eyes haunts him to this day. He shakes his head as if trying to rid himself of the memory and then decides to shower as if it might speed the morning along. He gets under the water, forgetting that it needs time to heat up and shrieks before laughing at himself.

It takes him back to the cold sea on that June day that had changed everything. The atmosphere in Bristol had felt so oppressive that he’d suggested going out for the day, seeking neutral territory for the seemingly inevitable conversation. Looking at a map, Portishead had been his first  suggestion but she had simply rolled her eyes scornfully, saying that she’d visited it many times before.

He driven to Slapton Sands in South Devon, imagining golden sand and warm seas. He can still recall the panic that had set in when they’d got out of the car to find that the windswept beach entirely comprised of shingle. They had eaten inside a cosy pub looking out over the waves. Later he’d made her laugh by paddling in the cold water. Eventually, curled up with her head on his lap, her hair blowing wildly, she had finally confessed the truth.

And they had found each other again over the course of three days on that windy beach. Admittedly, it had taken a couple of lengthy early morning walks filled with cigarettes, whilst she slept, to get his head around the idea and to accept the impending change. He had tenderly made love to her and they had talked at length. Step by step the distance had closed.

He finds his hands lathering his body while he replays their last evening in his head,  and it leaves him in quite the state, breath catching in his throat, body tingling. He ponders what she’s doing right at this very minute, yearning to be with her.

It takes him a little while to calm down sufficiently to return to his room. He closes the door ever so carefully, in the manner to which he has recently become accustomed. A small smile lights up his face and then he shakes his head at himself.

He tiptoes across the room and attempts to crawl back into bed without disturbing the incumbent. However, he fails and is greeted with a “What the fuck?” His laughter is small and timid when it begins, developing into a full bodied noise as he doubles over, catching sight of Archie with his skewwiff glasses and bed head glaring at him.

“Come here you daft git.” He drawls at his best friend who regards him in confusion but accepts his embrace.

Archie emits a rough strangled noise as he pushed his glasses firmly back in place. “Mate, Chlo’s not getting married until this afternoon. The fuck are you bouncing all over the shop for?”

“Couldn’t sleep and I…I miss them.” Finn trails off into a near whisper.

Archie holds his friend a little closer, aware of just what had brought them to this point. A lazy smile slowly breaks out on his tired face. “Honestly Finn, you’re going to see them in a few hours.”

“Yeah, but….”

“Good God. The grump of Stamford has turned into a soppy old fool.”

Finn blushed and then shrugged his shoulders. He settled himself on the bed next to his friend, ready to discuss how over the top this wedding was going to be, what Chloe would be wearing and most importantly he wanted to talk about his girls.


End file.
